Prussia's Night
by Ltkk022
Summary: Little thing I wrote about Prussia. First ever Hetalia drabble. Rated T for mention of alcohol and drunkness, etc.


"Bruder…?"

"Bruder!"  
"Vest….?"  
"Gilbert!"  
"Ja, Ludwig? I heard jou the first time."  
"Vhere are jou going?"  
" 'Ust out vith Antonio and Francis."  
"Jou have your key, ja? I do have some other," the blonde coughed awkwardly, "business to attend to. So I von't be home until early tomorrow."  
"Ja, ja. Jou're old enough to get laid without havin' to tell me. Have a good evening, Vest…."

The conversation was ended with a loud thud as the albino man slammed the door shut behind him.  
Ludwig, more often referred to as Germany, walked into the room where his brother had been, curiously looking around. The smell of beer lingered in the house, which wasn't particularly unusual for the brothers. Much to the blonde's dismay, he found why. His brother had taken to drinking and flipping blankly through the TV channels nonstop since the day before. Two dozen beer cans had been stacked in a haphazard fashion beside the couch, a larger mess than usual. Germany couldn't figure out why his usually obnoxiously cheerful brother, Prussia as he was commonly called, was so down. He looked at the door, a worried look spreading across his face.

"Zat Hungary…. Damn 'er…" Gilbert's speech was already slurred. Waking up and drinking helped him from feeling too hung over, but it didn't exactly clear it.  
That had been his life for the past three days.

Drink away the pain.

Alcohol had always made him more depressed until he drank so much he ceased to even feel.

Drink.  
Crush can number….  
Wait—What can was this again?  
Who cares anyways?  
Pop the top on the next one.  
Repeat.

With some encouraging words from his Italian friend Feliciano, Gilbert had put aside his foolish pride long enough to pursue a relationship with Elizabeta, Hungary to many.

And then, like that, it all slipped from under his fingers.

He couldn't remember when it started spiraling.  
Their first month together?  
Was it their third month?  
They'd been together for half of a year.

When did he turn so…  
So desperate?  
So clingy?  
So easily depressed?  
So needy?

.

So…  
Un-Awesome?  
Un-needed?  
Un-necessary  
Un-desirable  
Un-Fixable  
and  
Broken?

When Old Fritz passed away everyone could see him begin to crack apart.  
When his country was no longer a country the cracks grew.  
Shattered him.  
His self-worth.  
Everything about him.  
He wouldn't let anyone see it.

No one but her.  
He hated to admit it, but that was what drove her away.  
She cared for him for so long.  
Tried putting the pieces back where they had once been.  
Tried bandaging every wound inflicted, either self-caused or accidental.  
Tried to make him feel like the proud man he once was.  
For a while he was happy, incredibly so.

Everyone could tell she made him happy.  
Everyone was happy for them.  
Everyone expected it to last. They complimented each other so well. Her caring, his need for nurture.

Everyone  
was  
wrong.

His need for love and constant attention finally took its toll on her.  
She said it would be best if they cut it off, that she couldn't do any more for him.  
It was best if he found someone better than she.  
Someone who had more to offer him.

He agreed, just so she would be happy.  
He wanted her to be happy.  
He loved her.  
She loved him too,  
He believed that.  
He felt it.  
He also felt his all-too-human heart split down the middle.

Gilbert wandered down the street towards his familiar hangout; great times usually spent with Francis and Antonio and wandered in. He looked up and smiled as he found his group of friends.

The guys that knew all about love.  
The guys that knew about his problems.  
The guys who never would abandon him.  
The guys who encouraged him to find happiness elsewhere.  
The guys that would provide his happiness, if only for one blissfully ignorant, alcohol-infused night.

"Oui, 'ere's the little punk right 'ere!" Francis slapped Gilbert on the shoulder as the albino slid into the barstool between the Frenchman and the Spaniard.  
"Ah, si! Doesn't he look happy already!" Antonio remarked, also slamming his open palm hard onto Gilbert's other shoulder. "Your beer is getting stale, Mi Amigo!"

Gilbert picked up the frosted mug and threw it back, taking long gulps of the brownish-yellow liquid. He put the cup down only to have his two friends laugh at his frothy upper-lip. He wiped it away himself after Francis nearly pushed him off of his stool, drunkenly trying to do it for him. Antonio pitched in gleefully, pushing all three of them to the ground, laughing in a giant heap.

The three sat there, downing pints and hitting on the bartenders for hours.  
Just long enough for Gilbert to laugh.  
To forget his pain.

If only for a night.

* * *

This is Quincy's first attempt at writing anything Hetalia related. Please let me know how I can improve!  
Note- I don't think Prussia is a whiny-baby, but I do think that he has a lot of emotional baggage that we simply can't understand.  
I love him so much, so I want people to help me write him better~  
c:


End file.
